University of Virginia Library

WENONA;
OR,
THE VIRGIN'S FEAST.

Never did the sun shine brighter than on a cold day in
December, when the Indians at “Little Crow's” village
were preparing to go on a deer hunt. The Mississippi was
frozen, and the girls of the village had the day before enjoyed
one of their favorite amusements—a ball-play on the
ice. Those who owned the bright cloths and calicoes which
were hung up before their eyes, as an incentive to win the
game, were still rejoicing over their treasures; while the
disappointed ones were looking sullen, and muttering of
partiality being shown to this one because she was beautiful,
and to that, because she was the sister of the chief.

“Look at my head!” said Harpstenah; “Wenona
knew that I was the swiftest runner in the band, and as I
stooped to catch the ball she struck me a blow that stunned
me, so that I could not run again.”

But the head was so ugly, and the face too, that there
was no pity felt for her; those dirty, wrinkled features
bore witness to her contempt for the cleansing qualities of
water. Her uncombed hair was hanging in masses about
her ears and face, and her countenance expressed cruelty
and passion. But Harpstenah had nothing to avenge;

when she was young she was passed by, as there was
nothing in her face or disposition that could attract; and
now in the winter of life she was so ugly and so desolate,
so cross and so forlorn, that no one deemed her worthy even
of a slight. But for all that, Harpstenah could hate, and
with all the intensity of her evil heart did she hate Wenona,
the beautiful sister of the chief.

Yesterday had been as bright as to-day, and Grey Eagle,
the medicine man, had hung on a pole the prizes that were
to be given to the party that succeeded in throwing the ball
into a space marked off.

The maidens of the village were all dressed in their gayest
clothing, with ornaments of beads, bracelets, rings, and
ribbons in profusion. They cared not half so much for the
prizes, as they rejoiced at the opportunity of displaying their
graceful persons. The old women were eager to commence
the game, for they longed to possess the cloth for their
leggins, and the calico for their “okendokendas.”[1]

The women, young and old, were divided into two parties;
but as one party threw the ball towards the space
marked off, the others threw it back again far over their
heads, and then all ran back, each party endeavoring to
reach it first, that they might succeed in placing the ball in
the position which was to decide the game.

But the ball is not thrown by the hand, each woman has
a long stick with a circular frame at the end of it; this
they call a bat stick, and, simple as it looks, it requires
great skill to manage it.

Wenona was the swiftest runner of one party, and
Harpstenah, old and ugly as she was, the best of the other.
How excited they are! the snow-covered hills, majestic and
silent, look coldly enough upon their sport; but what care
they? the prize will soon be won.

The old medicine man cheered them on. “Run fast,
Wenona! take care that Harpstenah does not win the
game. Ho, Harpstenah! if you and your leggins are old,
you may have the cloth yet.”

Now Wenona's party is getting on bravely, but the ball
has been caught and thrown back by the other party. But
at last it is decided. In the struggle for the ball, Harpstenah
received a blow from an old squaw as dismal looking
as herself, and Wenona catches the ball and throws it into
the appointed place. The game is ended, and the medicine
man comes forward to distribute the prizes.

The warriors have looked on, admiring those who were
beautiful and graceful, and laughing at the ugly and awkward.

But Wenona cared little for the prizes. She was a
chief's sister, and she was young and beautiful. The
handsomest presents were given her, and she hardly looked
at the portion of the prizes which fell to her lot.

Smarting with pain from the blow she had received, (and
she spoke falsely when she said Wenona had struck her,)
stung with jealousy at the other party having won the
game, Harpstenah determined on revenge. “If I am old,”
she said, “I will live long enough to bring misery on her;
ugly as I may be, I will humble the proud beauty. What
do I eat? the worthless heads of birds are given to the old
woman for whom nobody cares, but my food will be to see

the eye of Wenona fall beneath the laugh of scorn. I will
revenge the wrongs of my life on her.”

Commend me to a Dahcotah woman's revenge! Has
she been slighted in love? blood must be shed; and if she
is not able to accomplish the death of her rival, her own life
will probably pay the forfeit. Has disgrace or insult been
heaped upon her? a life of eighty years is not long enough
to bring down vengeance on the offender. So with Harpstenah.
Her life had not been a blessing to herself—she
would make it a curse to others.

2. CHAPTER II.

In the preparations for the deer hunt, the ball-play has
been forgotten. The women are putting together what will
be necessary for their comfort during their absence, and the
men are examining their guns and bows and arrows. The
young girls anticipate amusement and happiness, for they
will assist their lovers to bring in the deer to the camp; and
the jest and merry laugh, and the words of love are spoken
too. The ball-play has been forgotten by all but Harpstenah.

But it is late in the afternoon; and as they do not start
till the morning, something must be done to pass the long
evening. “If this were full,” said a young hunter, kicking
at the same time an empty keg that had once contained
whiskey, “if this were full, we would have a merry night
of it.”

“Yes,” said Grey Iron, whose age seemed to have brought
him wisdom, “the night would be merry, but where would
you be the day after. Did you not, after drinking that
very whiskey, strike a white woman, for which you were
taken to the fort by the soldiers, and kept as a prisoner?”

The young man's look of mortification at this reproof
did not save him from the contemptuous sneer of his companions,
for all despise the Dahcotah who has thus been
punished. No act of bravery can wipe away his disgrace.

But Wenona sat pale and sad in her brother's wigwam.
The bright and happy looks of yesterday were all gone.
Her sister-in-law has hushed her child to sleep, and she is
resting from the fatigues of the day. Several old men,
friends of Little Crow's father, are sitting round the fire;
one has fallen asleep, while the others talk of the wonderful
powers of their sacred medicine.

“Why are you sad, Wenona,” said the chief, turning
to her; “why should the eyes of a chief's sister be filled
with tears, and her looks bent on the ground?”

“You need not ask why I am not happy,” said Wenona:
“Red Cloud brought presents to you yesterday; he
laid them at the door of your wigwam. He wants to buy
me, and you have received his gifts; why do you not return
them? you know I do not love him.”

“Red Cloud is a great warrior,” replied the chief; “he
wears many feathers of honor; you must marry him.”

The girl wrapped herself in her blanket and lay down.
For a time her sighs were heard—but at length sleep came
to her relief, and her grief was forgotten in dreams. But
morn has come and they are to make an early start. Was

ever such confusion? Look at that old hag knocking the
very senses out of her daughter's head because she is not
ready! and the girl, in order to avoid the blows, stumbles
over an unfortunate dog, who commences a horrible barking
and whining, tempting all the dogs of the village to out-bark
and outwhine him.

There goes “White Buffalo” with his two wives, the first
wife with the teepee on her back and her child on the top of it.
No wonder she looks so cross, for the second wife walks
leisurely on. Now is her time, but let her beware! for
White Buffalo is thinking seriously of taking a third.

But they are all off at last. Mothers with children, and
corn, and teepees, and children with dogs on their backs.
They are all gone, and the village looks desolate and forsaken.

3. CHAPTER III.

The party encamped about twenty miles from the village.
The women plant the poles of their teepees firmly
in the ground and cover them with a buffalo skin. A fire
is soon made in the centre and the corn put on to boil.
Their bread is kneaded and put in the ashes to bake, but
flour is not very plenty among them.

The next day parties were out in every direction; tracks
of deer were seen in the snow, and the hunters followed
them up. The beautiful animal flies in terror from the death
which comes surer and swifter than her own light footsteps.

The hunter's knife is soon upon her, and while warmth and
even life are left, the skin is drawn off.

After the fatigues of the day comes the long and pleasant
evening. A bright fire burned in the wigwam of the
chief, and many of the Indians were smoking around it, but
Wenona was sad, and she took but little part in the laughter
and merriment of the others.

Red Cloud boasted of his bravery and his deeds of valor;
even the old men listened to him with respect, for they
knew that his name was a terror to his enemies. But
Wenona turned from him! she hated to hear the sound of
his voice.

The old men talked of the mighty giant of the Dahcotahs,
he who needed not to take his gun to kill the game
he wanted; the glance of his eye would strike with death
the deer, the buffalo, or even the bear.

The song, the jest, the legend, by turns occupied them
until they separated to sleep. But as the warriors stepped
into the open air, why does the light of the moon fall upon
faces pale with terror? “See!” said the chief, “how flash
the mysterious lights! there is danger near, some dreadful
calamity is threatening us.”

“We will shoot at them,” said Red Cloud; “we will
destroy their power.” And the Indians discharged their
guns in quick succession towards the northern horizon,
which was brilliantly illuminated with the Aurora Borealis;
thus hoping to ward off coming danger.

The brother and sister were left alone at the door of the
teepee. The stern warrior's looks expressed superstitious
terror, while the maiden's face was calm and fearless.
“Do you not fear the power of the woman who sits in the

north, Wenona? she shows those flashes of light to tell us
of coming evil.”

“What should I fear,” said Wenona; “I, who will soon
join my mother, my father, my sisters, in the land of spirits?
Listen to my words, my brother: there are but two of
us; strife and disease have laid low the brave, the good,
the beautiful; we are the last of our family; you will soon
be alone.

“Before the leaves fell from the trees, as I sat on the banks
of the Mississippi, I saw the fairy of the water. The moon
was rising, but it was not yet bright enough for me to see
her figure distinctly. But I knew her voice; I had often
heard it in my dreams. `Wenona,' she said, (and the
waves were still that they might hear her words), `Wenona,
the lands of the Dahcotah are green and beautiful—but
there are fairer prairies than those on earth. In that bright
country the forest trees are ever green, and the waves of
the river flow on unchilled by the breath of winter. You
will not long be with the children of the earth. Even now
your sisters are calling you, and your mother is telling
them that a few more months will bring you to their side!”

“The words were true, my brother, but I knew not that
your harshness would hasten my going. You say that I
shall marry Red Cloud; sooner will I plunge my knife into
my heart; sooner shall the waves of the Mississippi roll
over me. Brother, you will soon be alone!”

“Speak not such words, my sister,” said the chief; “it
shall be as you will. I have not promised Red Cloud. I
thought you would be happy if you were his wife, and you
shall not be forced to marry him. But why should you
think of death? you saw our braves as they shot at the

lights in the north. They have frightened them away.
Look! they flash no more. Go in, and sleep, and to-morrow
I will tell Red Cloud that you love him not.”

And the cloudless moon shone on a happy face, and the
bright stars seemed more bright as Wenona gazed upon
them; but as she turned to enter the wigwam, one star
was seen falling in the heavens, and the light that followed
it was lost in the brightness of the others. And her dreams
were not happy, for the fairy of the water haunted them.
“Even as that star, Wenona, thou shalt pass from all that
thou lovest on earth; but weep not, thy course is upward!”

The hunters were so successful that they returned to
their village soon. The friends of Wenona rejoiced in her
happy looks, but to Harpstenah they were bitterness and
gall. The angry countenance of Red Cloud found an
answering chord in her own heart.

“Ha!” said she to him, as he watched Wenona and
her lover talking together, “what has happened? Did
you not say you would marry the chief's sister—why then
are you not with her? Red Cloud is a great warrior, why
should he be sad because Wenona loves him not? Are
there not maidens among the Dahcotahs more beautiful
than she? She never loved you; her brother, too, has
treated you with contempt. Listen to my words, Red
Cloud; the Virgin's Feast is soon to be celebrated, and she
will enter the ring for the last time. When she comes forward,
tell her she is unworthy. Is she not a disgrace to
the band? Has she not shamed a brave warrior? Will
you not be despised when another is preferred to you?”

The words of the tempter are in his ear—madness and
hatred are in his heart.

“I said I would take her life, but my revenge will be
deeper. Wenona would die rather than be disgraced.”
And as he spoke Harpstenah turned to leave him, for she
saw that the poison had entered his soul.

4. CHAPTER IV.

Among the Dahcotahs, women are not excluded from
joining in their feasts or dances; they dance the scalp dance
while the men sit round and sing, and they join in celebrating
many of the customs of their tribe. But the Virgin's
Feast has reference to the women alone; its object is
not to celebrate the deeds of the warrior, but rather to put
to the test the virtue of the maiden.

Notice was given among the Indians that the Virgin's
Feast was to be celebrated at Little Crow's village; the
time was mentioned, and all who chose to attend were
welcome to do so.

The feast was prepared in the neighborhood of the village.
The boiled corn and venison were put in wooden bowls, and
the Indians sat round, forming a ring. Those who were to
partake of the feast were dressed in their gayest apparel;
their long hair plaited and falling over their shoulders.
Those who are conscious of error dare not approach the
feast, for it is a part of the ceremony that they shall be
exposed by any one present. Neither rank nor beauty must

interpose to prevent the punishment. Nay, sometimes the
power of innocence and virtue itself is not sufficient to
guard the Dahcotah maiden from disgrace.

And was Wenona unworthy? The white snow that
covered the hills was not more pure than she. But Red
Cloud cared not for that. She had refused to be the light
of his wigwam, and thus was he avenged.

Wenona advanced with the maidens of the village.
Who can describe her terror and dismay when Red Cloud
advances and leads her from the sacred ring? To whom
shall the maiden turn for help? To her brother? his angry
countenance speaks not of comfort. Her friends? the
smile of scorn is on their lips. Her lover? he has left the
feast.

Her determination is soon made; her form is seen as she
flies to the woods. Death is the refuge of the friendless
and the wronged.

But as night came on the relatives of Wenona wondered
that she did not return. They sought her, and they found
her lifeless body; the knife was deep in her heart.

She knew she was innocent, but what did that avail her?
She was accused by a warrior, and who would believe her
if she denied the charge?

And why condemn her that she deprived herself of life,
which she deemed worthless, when embittered by unmerited
contempt. She knew not that God has said, “Thou shalt
do no murder.” The command had never sounded in her
ears.

She trusted to find a home in the House of Spirits—she
may have found a heaven in the mercy of God.

The fever of the following summer spared neither age
nor youth, and Red Cloud was its first victim. As the
dying Harpstenah saw his body carried out to be placed
upon the scaffold—“He is dead,” she cried, “and Wenona
was innocent! He hated her because she slighted him; I
hated her because she was happy. He had his revenge,
and I mine; but Wenona was falsely accused, and I told
him to do it!” and the eyes were closed—the voice was
hushed in death.

Wenona was innocent; and when the Virgin's Feast
shall be celebrated in her native village again, how will the
maidens tremble as they approach the sacred ring! Can
they forget the fate of their beautiful companion?

And when the breath of summer warms to life the
prairie flowers—when the long grass shall wave under the
scaffold where repose the mortal remains of the chief's
sister—how often will the Dahcotah maidens draw near
to contrast the meanness, the treachery, the falsehood of
Red Cloud, with the constancy, devotion, and firmness of
Wenona!